


'cause I'd spend half this morning, thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in

by tstrash, winnified



Category: Figure Skating RPF, virtuemoir
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, actually no one did but here it is anyways, let me borrow your t-shirt, slow dance, we'll giving you dancing, you asked for dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-26 18:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14408154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tstrash/pseuds/tstrash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnified/pseuds/winnified
Summary: The one where Tessa borrows Scott's t-shirt





	'cause I'd spend half this morning, thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skatetogether13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatetogether13/gifts).



> To Talia, may you excel at all your exams and when you're feeling low, ask yourself that one question...Also, we officially declare war.

A chorus of chimes ring from Tessa’s phone on her bedside table. With a crinkle of her eyebrows and a slight frown, she thinks who dares disturb her beauty sleep on this fine Saturday morning when another thought quickly interrupts--Scott. She smiles to herself then, rolls over, and picks up her phone. It becomes the next best thing when she can’t wake up with his physical presence next to her.

_Good morning T!_

_Well good afternoon really_

_But rise and shine sleepy head!_

_It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood_

_I’m headed to the rink to shoot that hockey segment_

_See you later for dinner?_

She can hear and pinpoint the specific intonations of his voice through his texts; the high pitches of his good morning, the sing songy cadence of his Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood reference, to the thoughtful dinner plans, all laced with affection. She can’t help it--she hasn’t seen him since, well, a mere 17 hours ago, but she misses him so. She thinks all of half a second about replying, but decides she’ll surprise him instead.

When the morning transitions into afternoon, Tessa finds the motivation she needs to get up and get dressed. After scanning the contents of her fridge and realizing there isn’t much in there, she slips on the new adidas that were sent to her and heads out for a stroll along the canal until she gets to the market down the street. It’s her favorite place to spend the afternoon, browsing at the old books on the stand in the middle, picking out the ripest looking strawberry basket from the older french lady who always has the best fruit, or trying the featured lemonade flavor from the small booth in the corner. Whatever she chooses to do, she knows she could spend hours here.

After finding some ingredients for dinner, and a couple hours well spent, Tessa heads back to their apartments just down the street, with a couple reusable bags slung over her shoulder full of fresh produce and a colorful bouquet of tulips in hand. When she reaches the building, her autopilot turns on, pressing the 3 instead of the 4 in the elevator, the decision stands that she’s going to spend the afternoon at Scott’s. She lets herself in with the spare key he gave her when they first moved in ‘just in case there is ever an emergency’. It seems that she’s started using said key for more than just emergencies.

After looking through countless cookbooks Scott had stashed away in the cupboard above his fridge, Tessa buckles down in attempts to make a chicken recipe she found. It involves mixing this, pureeing that, and sauteeing these, which sounds all too complicated, and she wishes she had just stuck with eggs and toast. As she attempts to mix the sauce that has now turned a deep red on the stove, a bubble pops and had splatters her shirt. She flinches and jumps back in pain as the hot sauce seeps through her shirt and touches skin, and then at the fact that she had stained a perfectly good white t-shirt. She runs the tap and dabs some cool water on her stomach, promptly turning off the stove, abandoning her half completed dinner. Sighing, she heads to Scott’s room, strips her shirt from her small frame in the process, and discards it in his laundry basket near the door, along with his small mountain of clothes prepped to go in the wash, including his infamous Ellen boxer briefs.

She laughs to herself; shaking her head as she crosses his room. In the top drawer of his dresser, the one she frequently opens due to the abundance of comfortable shirts, she finds one perfect choice for the evening sitting right on top. After discarding her bra and pants, she throws the articles onto the edge of his bed, making a mental note to deal with it later. When she pulls the long sleeve over her head, she’s caught with a rush of comfort and warmth. His smell engulfs her and she blushes like a middle school girl. After Tessa collects herself, she goes back to the kitchen and attempts to clean up the mess she left on the stove as best as she can, throwing away the remains of the half cooked food. She loads the dishwasher, makes herself a bowl of cheerios, and settles at the kitchen table when her phone dings. Scott.

_Just finished shooting, the crew wants to grab dinner and drinks. How can I say no if they’re offering to pay, right?_

_I won’t be out long. Gotta get home to my girl at some point._

She’s known him for twenty years, and yet somehow the way Scott phrases certain things, makes her giddy.

 _Have fun, love. I’ll be here when you get back._ Tessa responds succinctly.

After finishing her bowl of cereal, she settles comfortably on the couch, turning on the tv to Netflix. Aimlessly sifting through all of the recommended shows on his account and finding nothing of interest, _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ becomes her fallback option. As the movie plays on, Tessa curls up under a blanket, becoming increasingly more cozy and content as the scenes roll on. Faint pings of her phone are heard in the background but she feels no urgency to reach for them as she drifts in and out of consciousness. Finally, she succumbs to sleep, nestled pleasantly in the corner of the couch.

_Hey you, how’s the night?_

_I think I might be feeling a little buzzed. They keep buying beer and I keep drinking it...weird huh?_

_Tess???_

_Did you fall asleep? It’s only 8…_

_I’ll take that as a yes. I guess I’ll see you in the morning._

_Love you._

When Scott had come to terms with the fact that Tessa had fallen asleep on the other end, his mood suffered as a result. He felt himself slipping in and out of conversations, wondering what Tessa was up to, and suddenly more interested in what was on the big screens in the back of the bar than the conversations happening right in front of him.

“Earth to Scott,” one of the guys said, snapping him out of his trance. The guys offered to buy him another drink, and he politely declined.

“I’m already pretty buzzed, it’s getting late, and I should probably get home to Tessa.” The line came so naturally to him that no one questioned it or gave him a second look. They all shrugged it off, and Scott figured he would just resort it to his fatigue and an early morning if he was asked. Instead, he threw some cash on the table, insisted he buy at least one of his many drinks and bid the guys goodnight.

Once escaping the noisy confines of the bar, he hailed a cab with no trouble, hopped in the back seat and gave the driver the address to their apartment complex. His head was spinning and the bumpy ride through Montreal construction was not doing him any favors, and after what seemed like a lifetime, he was entering the foyer of the tall brick building. When the elevator doors opened on his floor, he reached into his pocket, fumbling for his small key chain. Reaching his door, slipping the key in and wrestling it till it unlocks, he turned the knob to slowly open the door when he realized that the television was on in the living room. Then he quietly shuts the door behind him as to not disturb the intruder, he toes off his shoes and quickly shuffles his way to the couch. He releases a breath, after realizing he was holding it in until he saw her.

Tessa.

Tessa was on his couch, fast asleep and beautiful as ever. Curled up in what must be the most uncomfortable position in the corner. She’s lying on her stomach with her cheek pressed to a cushion, arms folded beneath her chest like a baby, and her back exposed from the blanket that once cloaked her but is now draped over one leg and falling down the side. Is that--is that his Moir’s Skate Shop t-shirt? Sure enough, the bright orange script stares proudly back at him. It reminds him of a time which seemed like forever ago when he wore her name at their Golf Classic. His heart warms at the sight of her in his t-shirt, he smiles to no one and to the thought of her finally getting some decent sleep.

He moves around the front of the couch, crouching down to where her knee is poking out. He gently put a hand on the exposed limb, moving his thumb in small circles, hoping to coax her into a state of consciousness.

Her eye twitches first, then her nose winkles, and she releases a long breath. It’s a routine he knows all too well when she’s waking up, but he can’t wait to talk to her so he moves in, closing the gap with his lips, placing a kiss to her forehead, her cheek, and just off to the side of her mouth. Her lips form a smile as her eyes flutter open.

“Hi,” Scott whispers gruffly as he moves his lips down to her neck.

“How was your night?” She asks groggily, smiling through a yawn as she stretches her arms above her head.

“I had a really good time,” he tells her, as he moves himself to sit on the floor in front of the couch, taking her hand that’s peeping out from the blanket. She cranes her neck to better see him, and she’s immediately met with a crinkle in his warm chocolate orbs, a smirk forming at the corners of his lips.

“So is this just gonna be a thing now where you break into my apartment, leave dishes in my sink, and then steal my clothes?” He continues, the smirk taking over his face as he pinches the sleeve of the shirt she’s wearing.

“I can stop doing that if you don’t like it,” Tessa teases as she giggles. “And for the record, your clothes are way comfier, and you have more food in your fridge.”

Scott gets up from his spot on the floor and crawls up onto the couch, forcing her to adjust her position, as he squishes his way up against her.

“You smell like beer,” she tells him as she nestles herself flush against him, her face resting in the crook of his neck, periodically placing small kisses to his warm skin.

He hums in response, pulls her closer, and starts rubbing circles on her back.

“We should probably get you to bed,” Scott offers. But the only reply he receives is the rise and fall of her chest against his, the soft rumble from within as her breaths hit his shoulder. When Scott knew she was asleep for good, he removes himself from her grasp and carefully cradled her in his arms, carrying her down the hallway to the bedroom.

\---

When Scott wakes up in the morning, with Tessa’s warm hand laying on his bare chest, he pulls in a long breath through his nose, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes squint open, adjusting to the light that has seeped through the curtains. He looks over at Tessa, still sound asleep curled into his side. He finds himself staring at her, committing her every feature to memory. The way her long lashes are fanned against her cheeks, the slope of her nose, her slightly parted lips, her dark hair pooled across the pillow and cascaded over her shoulders, his t-shirt that she’s sleeping in. He thinks it might be his weakness, but he scratches that thought because anyone that knows him knows that all of Tessa is his weakness. He smiles and kisses the top of her head. He carefully untangles from Tessa and leaves her to enjoy her sleep while he decides on breakfast.

When Tessa wakes, it’s with the distant sound of music flowing from beyond the bedroom. Her heart is so full and she’s staring at the ceiling, taking a moment to soak in all the love and happiness surrounding her. She didn’t think she’d ever feel this at peace. She pushes away the dark memories looming at the back of her mind, and gets out of bed to greet whatever surprise Scott’s got going.

When she emerges from the bedroom to his open plan kitchen, the first sight that greets her eyes is Scott with a towel flung over his shoulder and flipping pancakes. He’s whistling along to a familiar country tune playing from his phone’s speakers. He’s all messy haired, ends flying in whichever direction, and by god, shirtless.

“You know, cooking without a shirt has got to be a safety hazard,” she teases, padding closer to him.

He snorts, eyes still focuses on the pancakes before him.

“I only learned from the best. I didn’t want to ruin a good shirt.”

She smacks his arm, but tilts up and kisses him on the lips.

“Well good morning to you too,” Scott says when they break apart, but their foreheads still very much pressed together, and both sets of eyes staring intensely into one another’s.

“You know, as much as I love your gorgeous green eyes, I have to get back to these pancakes or we’ll be eating burnt rocks instead,” he says, chuckling.

She turns to walk away from him and towards the kitchen island, and he pipes up again.

“Nice shirt,” he adds with a wink.  

“Thanks, it smells nice and clean,” she shoots right back.  

She purposely takes a seat opposite him, arms folded on the granite countertop, admiring his back muscles, all the dips and curves hidden beneath all the costumes.

“What happened to your shirt?” he asks, curious.

“Uh, just had a run in with some sauce. No biggie, really,” she played it off. “Why are you so concerned with my shirt?”

He shrugs. “You we’re going to make a real dinner, huh?” He teases, steering the conversation away from the t-shirt.

“Well we did have dinner plans until you went out, and I had bought all of these nice ingredients and I didn’t want to waste them,” Tessa explains.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t home for dinner, so I made your favorite breakfast to make it up to you,” Scott says and stacks the last pancake of six on a plate in front of her. “Double chocolate chip.”

She laughs. “Thank you, you’re forgiven.” He hands her a fork and they both start to dig in.

“But you know, I’m glad you came over. That way I wasn’t lying when I told the guys I had to get home to you.”

“You told them what?”

“Relax, T. It was in good humor. They didn’t get it anyways. Aren’t you glad I came home to find you curled up on my couch?”

“I would’ve been concerned if it wasn’t you.” Scott laughs, and his laugh is ever so infectious, and she barks out her big belly laugh too, the one she saves just for him.

\---

They do the cleaning up together. He rinses off the dishes and utensils, and she dries them off with a towel and stacks them back into his cabinet overhead. They both stop dead in their tracks for a few moments when the first few notes of a guitar ring out from Scott’s phone, followed by soft drums and cymbals, and the unmistakable raspy voice of Chris Stapleton belting out “I used to spend my nights out in a barroom...”

Scott quickly rinses the last plate, turns off the tap, and wipes his hands on the towel. He turns to Tessa, leaning on the counter.

 _Liquor was the only love I’ve known…_  

“What?” Tessa asks, mirth in her voice. She puts the last plate away and mirrors his stance. 

“Care to dance, my lady?” Scott offers his hand.

“Always,” she replies. She accepts his hand and he takes the lead. They face each other, eyes locked, he takes both of her hands and places a kiss on her knuckles. Then his right hand reaches behind her waist and pulls her close, and her breath hitches. She’d once said that after so many years, all these intimate touches mean nothing, that their bodies are extensions of themselves, mere props. She’s such a terrible liar. She feels every single tingle, as if his every touch is electricity, sending small jolts through her veins, making her feel alive.

She places her left hand on his shoulder, the back of her right fingers lightly grazing his forearm, down to his palm, before she fits her hand in his grasp. She knows how to play the same game, and her brushes send shivers down his spine.

She looks back up at him, at the brown of his eyes, at the sincerity they hold, and her heart flutters. And as the chorus begins, they start to waltz.  

_You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey_

_You’re as sweet as strawberry wine_

_You’re as warm as a glass of brandy_

_And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time_

“That’s so true,” he pipes up, smiling down at her.

“What is?”

“I stay stoned on your love all the time,” he sings to her, putting emphasis on “all” and drawing out the last word.

She giggles, throwing her head back.

“That’s a line, isn’t it? I can’t decide if that’s cheesy or just right,” she says, amused.

He responds by dipping her, her back arched against his hold, eyes closed, and she decides she doesn’t need an answer.

_I’ve looked for love in all the same old places_

_Found the bottom of a bottle always dry_

_But when you poured out your heart I didn't waste it_

_'Cause there's nothing like your love to get me high_

“That’s also true,” Tessa muses.

“Mm-hmm,” Scott hums in response, twirling Tessa around. When she comes spinning back, she lands a little too close to his lips. He takes the opportunity and pecks her on the lips, earning a squeeze on his shoulder in response.

_You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey_

_You're as sweet as strawberry wine_

_You're as warm as a glass of brandy_

_And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time_

“I hope you know you’re all these things and more,” Scott declares, out of the blue.

She never knew what to do when he throws out soundbites like this, to the press, to people who’d listen. She didn’t think she’d still blush in front of him after twenty years together, but yet here she is, turning beet red at his heartwarming words.

“What’s gotten into you today?” She asks.

“Nothing, just loving life, that’s all.” She gives him the biggest grin and presses her forehead to his. They’ve slowed in their tracks, simply swaying now. Tessa snakes her hands behind his neck, fingers interlocked. Scott moves to place his hands on her waist, fingertips pressing into his hips.

_You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey_

_You're as sweet as strawberry wine_

_You're as warm as a glass of brandy_

_And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time_

_You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey_  

They stay like that for an untold amount of time, after the song fades out and the next one begins, just enjoying what it felt like to be in each other’s arms.

It was Tessa who breaks the silence.

“Can I keep the shirt?”

Scott roars out in laughter, she’ll take that as a yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to tstrash who has been more than patient with me in this collab! She's fantastic, has amazing vision, and writes like lightning! Seriously, I don't think this would have happened without her, and her encouragement - thank you!


End file.
